end of them? Either a club such as savages use or something to throw
like a boomerang. And he could imitate animals, and as you say, he was
probably a ventriloquist. And he was that active and strong he could get
into the house through one of the windies, just like a great monkey. Now
what's the history of that man?"
"Pretty wild, I guess."
"Ah, but one can say more than that, sir. He was not an ordinary
Englishman or Scotchman. He was from the Colonies or America or one of
thae wild places! Is that not a fair deduction, sir?"
"It all points to that," said Ned, with a curious look.
"It points to that indeed, sir. Now where's he hidden himself? It should
not be difficult to find him with all that to go on."
"A tall active strong man who has lived in the Colonies or America; one
ought to get him. Has he only one eye, by any chance?"
The reasoner gazed petrified at his counsellor.
"God, but I've just described yoursel', sir!" he cried in an unhappy
voice.
"You're determined to hang one of us, Bisset."
For a moment Bisset seemed to find conversation difficult. Then he said
miserably:
"So it's no good, and all the alternatives just fa' to pieces."
The extreme dejection of his voice struck the other sharply.
"Alternatives to what?" he asked.
For a few seconds Bisset did not answer.
"What's on your mind, man?" demanded Cromarty.
"The reason, sir, I've got that badly off the rails with my deductions
is just that I _had_ to find some other theory than the story that's
going about."
"What story?"
"You've no heard it, sir?"
Ned shook his head.
"I hardly like to repeat it, sir; it's that cruel and untrue. They're
saying Sir Malcolm and Miss Farmond had got engaged to be married."
"Well?" said Ned sharply, and he seemed to control his feelings with an
effort.
"A secret engagement, like, that Sir Reginald would never have allowed.
But there I think they're right, sir. Sir Reginald was unco' taken up
with Miss Farmond, but he'd have looked higher for his heir. And so as
they couldn't get married while he was alive--neither of them having any
money, well, sir, this story says--"
He broke off and neither spoke for an instant.
"Good God!" murmured Cromarty. "They actually accuse Malcolm Cromarty
and Miss Cicely of--?"
He paused too, and Bisset nodded.
"Who is saying this?"
"It seems to be the clash of the haill country by this time, sir."
He seemed a little frightened at the effect of his own words; and it was
small wonder. Ned Cromarty was a nasty looking customer at that moment.
"Who started the lie?"
"It's just ignorance and want of education of the people, I'm thinking,
Mr. Cromarty. They're no able to grasp the proper principles--"
"Lady Cromarty must be told! She could put a stop to it--"
Something in Bisset's look pulled him up sharply.
"I'm afraid her ladyship believes it herself, sir. Maybe you have heard
she has keepit Miss Farmond to stay on with her."
"I have."
"Well, sir," said Bisset very slowly and deliberately, "I'm
thinking--it's just to watch her."
Ned Cromarty had been smoking a pipe. There was a crack now as his teeth
went through the mouthpiece. He flung the pipe into the fire, jumped up,
and began pacing the room without a word or a glance at the other. At
last he stopped as abruptly as he had started.
"This slander has got to be stopped!"
And then he paced on.
"Just what I was saying to myself, sir. It was likely a wee thing of
over anxiety to stop it that made me think o' the possibility of a wild
man from America, which was perhaps a bit beyond the limits of what ye
might call, as it were, scientific deduction."
"When did Lady Cromarty begin to take up this attitude?"
"Well, the plain truth is, sir, that her ladyship has been keeping sae
much to herself that it's not rightly possible to tell what's been in
her mind. But it was the afternoon when Mr. Rattar had been at the house
that she sent for Miss Farmond and tellt her then she was wanting her to
stop on."
"That would be after she knew the contents of the will! I wonder if the
idea had entered her head before, or if the will alone started it? Old
Simon would never start such a scandal himself about his best client. He
knows too well which side his bread is buttered for that! But he might
have talked his infernal jargon about the motive and the people who
stood to gain by the death. That might have been enough to set her
suspicions off."
"Or I was thinking maybe, sir, it was when her ladyship heard of the
engagement."
"Ah!" exclaimed Ned, stopping suddenly again, "that's possible. When did
she hear?"
Bisset shook his head.
"That beats me again, sir. Her own maid likely has been telling her
things the time we've not been seeing her."
"Did the maid--or did you know about the engagement?"
"Servants are uneducated creatures," said Bisset contemptuously. "And
women at the best have just the ae' thought--who's gaun to be fool
enough to marry next? They were always gossiping about Mr. Malcolm and
Miss Cicely, but there was never what I should call a data to found a
deduction on; not for a sensible person. I never believed it myself, but
it's like enough her ladyship may have suspected it for a while back."
"I suppose Lady Cromarty has been nearly distracted?"
"Very near, sir."
"That's her only excuse. But the story is such obvious nonsense, Bisset,
that surely no one in their proper senses really believes it?"
The philosopher shook a wise head.
"I have yet to learn, Mr. Cromarty, what folks will not believe."
"They've got to stop believing this!" said Ned emphatically.
XVII
A SUGGESTION
Next morning Simon Rattar was again informed that Mr. Cromarty of
Stanesland wished to see him, and again the announcement seemed to be
unwelcome. He was silent for several seconds before answering, and when
he allowed Mr. Cromarty to be shown in, it was with an air which
suggested the getting over a distasteful business as soon as possible.
"Well, Mr. Cromarty?" he grunted brusquely.
Mr. Cromarty never beat about the bush.
"I've come to see you about this scandalous story that's going round."
The lawyer glanced at the papers he had been busy with, as if to
indicate that they were of more importance than scandals.
"What story?" he enquired.
"That Sir Malcolm and Miss Farmond were concerned in Sir Reginald's
murder."
There was something compelling in Ned's directness. Simon pushed aside
the papers and looked at him fixedly.
"Oh," he said. "They say that, do they?"
"Haven't you heard?"
Simon's grunt was non-committal.
"Well anyway, this derned story is going about, and something's got to
be done to stop it."
"What do you suggest?"
"Are you still working the case for all you know how?"
Simon seemed to resent this enquiry a little.
"I am the Procurator Fiscal. The police make the actual enquiries. They
have done everything they could."
"'They have done'? Do you mean that they have stopped looking for the
murderer?"
"Certainly not. They are still enquiring; not that it is likely to be
much further use."
There seemed to be a sardonic note in his last words that deepened
Cromarty's frown and kindled his eye.
"You mean to suggest that any conclusion has been reached?"
"Nothing is absolutely certain," said Simon.
Again the accent on the "absolutely" seemed to rouse his visitor's ire.
"You believe this story, do you?"
"If I _believed_ it, I should order an arrest. I have just told you
nothing is absolutely certain."
"Look here," said Cromarty, "I don't want to crab Superintendent
Sutherland or his men, but you want to get somebody better than them on
to this job."
Though the Procurator Fiscal kept his feelings well in hand, it was
evident that this suggestion struck him more unfavourably than anything
his visitor had said yet. He even seemed for one instant to be a little
startled by its audacity.
"I disagree," he muttered.
"Now don't you take offence, Mr. Rattar," said Ned with a sudden smile.
"I'm not aiming this at you, but, hang it, you know as well as I do that
Sutherland is no great shakes at detection. They are all just country
bobbies. What we want is a London detective."
Simon seemed to have recovered his equanimity during this speech. He
shook his head emphatically, but his voice was as dispassionately
brusque as ever.
"London detective? Much over-rated people, I assure you. No use in a
case of this kind."
"The very kind of case a real copper-bottomed expert would be some use
in!"
"You are thinking of detectives in stories, Mr. Cromarty. The real men
are no better than Sutherland--not a bit. I believe in Sutherland.
Better man than he looks. Very shrewd, most painstaking. Couldn't have a
better man. Useless expense getting a man from London."
"Don't you trouble about the expense, Mr. Rattar. That can be arranged
all right. I want a first class man engaged."
The sudden glance which the lawyer shot at him, struck Ned as unusual in
his experience of Simon Rattar. He appeared to be startled again, and
yet it was not mere annoyance that seemed to show for the fraction of a
second in his eye. And then the next instant the man's gaze was as cold
and steady as ever. He pursed his lips and considered his answer in
silence before he spoke.
"You are a member of the family, Mr. Cromarty; the actual head of it, in
fact, I believe."
"Going by pedigrees, I believe I am, but being a member is reason enough
for my wanting to get daylight through this business--and seeing
somebody swing for it!"
"What if you made things worse?"
"Worse! How could they be?"
"Mr. Cromarty, I am the Procurator Fiscal in charge of this case. But I
am also lawyer and factor to the Cromarty family, and my father was
before me. If there was evidence enough--clear and proper evidence--to
convict any person of this crime, it would be my duty as Procurator
Fiscal to convict them. But there is no definite evidence, as you know
yourself. All we can do, if we push this matter too far, is to make a
family scandal public. Are you as the head of the Cromarty family, and I
as their factor, to do this?"
It was difficult to judge with what feelings Ned Cromarty heard this
deliberate statement and appeal. His mouth was as hard as the lawyer's
and his eye revealed nothing.
"Then you propose to hush the thing up?"
"I said nothing about hushing up. I propose to wait till I get some
_evidence_, Mr. Cromarty. It is a little difficult perhaps for a layman
to realise what evidence means, but I can tell you--and any lawyer, or
any detective, would tell you--we have nothing that can be called
evidence yet."
"And you won't get any till you call in somebody a cut above
Sutherland."
"The scent is too cold by this time--"
"Who let it cool?" interrupted Ned.
For a moment the lawyer's eyes looked unpleasant.
"Every effort was made to find a clue; by yourself as well as by the
police. And let me tell you, Mr. Cromarty, that our efforts have not
been as fruitless as you seem to think."
"What have we discovered?"
"In the first place that there was no robbery committed and no sign of
anybody having entered the house from the outside."
Ned shook his head.
"That's a lot too strong. I believe the man _did_ come in by the
window."
"You admit there is no proof?"
"Sure," said Ned candidly. "I quite admit there is no proof of
anything--yet."
"No robbery, no evidence of anyone having come in by the window--"
"No proof," corrected Ned. "I maintain that the window being unsnibbed
and that mud on the floor and the table near the window being upset is
evidence; but not proof positive."
Simon's patience had by this time become exemplary. His only wish seemed
to be to convince by irresistible argument this obstinate objector. It
struck the visitor, moreover, that in this effort the lawyer was
displaying a fluency not at all characteristic of silent Simon.
"Well, let us leave it at that. Suppose there be a possibility that
entry was actually made by the window. It is a bare possibility against
the obvious and easy entrance by the door,--near which, remember, the
body was found. Then, as I have pointed out, there was no robbery, and
not a trace has been found of anybody outside that house with a motive
for the crime."
"Except me."
"Unless you care to except yourself. But neither you nor the police have
found any bad characters in the place."
"That's true enough," Ned admitted reluctantly.
"On the other hand, there were within the house two people with a very
strong motive for committing the crime."
"I deny that!" cried Ned with a sudden gleam of ferocity in his eye that
seemed to disconcert the lawyer.
"Deny it? You can scarcely deny that two young people, in love with one
another and secretly engaged, with no money, and no chance of getting
married, stood to gain everything they wanted by a death that gave them
freedom to marry, a baronetcy, a thousand a year, and two thousand in
cash besides?"
"Damn it, Mr. Rattar, is the fact that a farmer benefits by a shower any
evidence that he has turned on the rain?"
"I have repeatedly said, Mr. Cromarty, that there is no definite
evidence to convict anybody. But nothing would have been easier than
making an end of Sir Reginald Cromarty, to anybody inside that house
whom he would never suspect till they struck the blow. All the necessary
conditions are fulfilled by this view of the case, whereas every other
view--every other view, mind you, Mr. Cromarty--is confronted with these
difficulties:--no robbery, no definite evidence of entry, no explanation
of Sir Reginald's extraordinary silence when the man appeared, no bad
characters in the neighbourhood, and, above all, no motive."
At the end of this speech Simon shut his mouth tight and leaned back in
his chair. For a moment it seemed as though Ned Cromarty was impressed
by the lawyer's view of the case. But when he replied, his voice, though
deliberate had a fighting ring in it, and his single eye, a fighting
light.
"Then you propose to leave this young couple under the most damnable
cloud of suspicion that a man and a woman could lie under--simply leave
'em there, and let that be the end of it?"
Simon seemed to be divided between distaste for this way of putting the
case, and anxiety still to convince his visitor.
"I propose to avoid the painful family scandal which further disclosures
and more publicity would almost certainly bring about; so long as I am
justified as Procurator Fiscal in taking this course. And until I get
more evidence, I am not only justified but forced to take this course."
Ned suddenly jumped to his feet.
"I'm no lawyer," said he, "but to me you seem to be arguing in the
damnedest circle I ever met. You won't do anything because you can't
get more evidence. And you won't look for more evidence because you
don't want to do anything."
There was more than a hint of temper in Simon's eye and his answer was
rapped out sharply.
"I certainly do not _want_ to cause a family scandal. I haven't said all
I could say about Sir Malcolm if I were pressed."
"Why not?"
"I've told you. Suspicion is not evidence, but if I do get evidence,
those who will suffer by it had better beware!"
Ned turned at the door and surveyed him with a cool and caustic eye.
"That's talk," he said, "and something has got to be _done_."
He was gone, and Simon Rattar was left frowning at the closed door
behind him. The frown remained, but became now rather thoughtful than
indignant. Then he sprang up and began to pace the floor, deliberately
at first, and then more rapidly and with increasing agitation.
XVIII
L1200
Ned Cromarty had returned home and was going upstairs, when he heard a
voice cry:
"Ned!"
The ancient stone stair, spiralling up round the time-worn pillar that
seemed to have no beginning or end, gave at intervals on to doors which
looked like apertures in a cliff. Through one of these he turned and at
the end of a brief passage came to his sister's sitting room. In that
mediaeval setting of ponderous stone, it looked almost fantastic in its
daintiness. It was a small room of many cushions and many colours, its
floor covered with the softest rugs and its walls with innumerable
photographs, largely of country houses where Miss Cromarty had visited.
Evidently she was a lady accustomed to a comfortable life in her roving
days, and her sitting room seemed to indicate very distinctly that she
proposed to live up to this high standard permanently.
"Oh Neddy dear, I want to talk to you about something," she began in her
brisk way and with her brightest smile.
Her brother, though of a simple nature, was by this time aware that when
he was termed "Neddy dear" the conversation was apt to turn on Miss
Cromarty's requirements.
"Well," said he, "how much is the cheque to be this time?"
"How clever you're getting!" she laughed. "But it isn't a cheque I want
this time. It's only a motor car."
He looked at her doubtfully for a moment.
"Pulling my leg; or a real car?"
"Real car of course--nice one too!"
"But, my dear girl, we've just put down our car. You agreed it was
necessary."
"I agreed then; but it isn't necessary now."
"Have you come into a fortune? I haven't!"
"You've come into L1200."
Again he looked at her, and this time his expression changed.
"That's only a debt wiped out."
"Well, and your great argument for economy was that you had to pay back
that debt. Now you haven't. See, Neddy dear?"
Her brother began to shake his head, and her smile became a little less
bright.
"I don't want to get my affairs into a tangle again just yet."
"But they weren't in a bad tangle. Cancelling that debt makes us
absolutely all right again. It's absurd for people like us not to have a
car! Look at the distances from our neighbours! One can't go anywhere.
I'll undertake to keep down the household expenses if you get the car."
Her brother frowned out of the window.
"No," he said, "it's too soon to get a car again."
"But you told me you had got part of that L1200 in hand and hoped to
make up the rest very soon. What are you going to do with the money
now?"
He glanced at her over his shoulder for an instant and then his mouth
assumed a grim and obstinate look she knew too well.
"I may need the money," he said briefly. "And I'm not much in the mood
at this moment for buying things."
Behind his back Lilian made a little grimace. Then in a tone of sisterly
expostulation she said:
"You are worrying too much over this affair, Ned. You've done all you
can----"
He interrupted her brusquely:
"And it's dashed little! What have I actually done? Nothing! One needs a
better man than me."
"Well, there's your friend Silent Simon, and all the police--"
"A fat lot of good they are!" said Ned.
His sister looked a little surprised at his unusual shortness of temper.
To her he was very rarely like this.
"You need a good day's shooting to take your mind off it for a little,"
she suggested.
He turned upon her hotly.
"Do you know the story that's going about, Lilian?"
"Sir Malcolm and the Farmond girl? Oh, rather," she nodded.
"Is that how it strikes you?"
Lilian Cromarty jumped. There was something very formidable in her
brother's voice.
"My dear Ned, don't frighten me! Eat me if you like, but eat me quietly.
I didn't say I believed the story."
"I hope not," he said in the same grim tone, "but do you mean to say it
doesn't strike you as the damnedest slander ever spread?"
"Between myself I hadn't called it the 'damnedest' anything. But how do
I know whether it's a slander?"
"You actually think it might conceivably be true?"
She shrugged her well-gowned shoulders.
"I never could stand Malcolm Cromarty--a conceited little jackanapes. He
hasn't a penny and he was head over ears in debt."
It was his turn to start.
"Was he?"
"Oh, rather! Didn't you know? Owed money everywhere."
"But such a crime as that!"
"A man with ties and hair like his is capable of anything. You know
quite well yourself he is a rotter."
"Anyhow you can't believe Cicely Farmond had anything to do with it?"
Again she shrugged her shoulders.
"My dear Ned, I'm not a detective. A pretty face is no proof a woman is
a saint. I told you before that there was generally something in the
blood in those cases."
As he stared at her, it seemed as though her words had indeed rushed
back to his memory, and that they hit him hard.
"People don't say that, do they?" he asked in a low voice.
"Really, Ned, I don't know everything people say: but they are not
likely to overlook much in such a case."
He stood for a moment in silence.
"She--I mean they've both got to be cleared!" he said, and strode out of
the room.
XIX
THE EMPTY COMPARTMENT
It was on this same evening that Superintendent Sutherland was almost
rewarded for his vigilance by having something distinctly suspicious to
report. As it happened, it proved a disappointing incident, but it gave
the superintendent something to think about.
He was going a few stations down the line to investigate a rumour of a
suspicious person seen in that neighbourhood. It was a vague and
improbable rumour and the superintendent was setting out merely as a
matter of form, and to demonstrate his vigilance and almost abnormal
sense of duty. Darkness had already fallen for an hour or two when he
strode with dignified gait down the platform, exchanging a greeting with
an acquaintance or two, till he came to the front carriage of the train.
He threw open the door of the rear compartment, saw that it was empty,
and was just going to enter when glancing over his shoulder he perceived
his own cousin Mr. MacAlister upon the platform. Closing the door, he
stepped down again and greeted him.
Mr. MacAlister hailed him with even more than usual friendliness, and
after a few polite preliminaries drew him insidiously towards the far
side of the platform. An intelligent, inveterate and persevering
curiosity was Mr. MacAlister's dominating characteristic, and as soon as
he had got his distinguished kinsman out of earshot of the herd, he
inquired in a hushed voice:
"And what's doing aboot the murder noo, George?"
The superintendent pursed his lips and shook his head.
"Aye, man, yon's a proper puzzle," said he.
"But you'll have gotten a guid idea whae's din it by noo, George?" said
Mr. MacAlister persuasively.
"Weel," admitted the superintendent, "we maybe have our notions, but
there's no evidence yet, Robbie; that's the fair truth. As the fiscal
says, there's no evidence."
"I'd like fine to hae a crack wi' you aboot it, George," sighed Mr.
MacAlister. "I may tell you I've notions of ma own; no bad notions
either."
"Well," said the superintendent, moving off, "I'd have enjoyed a crack
myself if it wasna that I've got to be off by this train--"
"Man!" cried his kinsman, "I'm for off by her mysel'! Come on, we'll hae
our crack yet."
The tickets had already been taken and the doors were closed as the two
recrossed the platform.
"This carriage is empty," said the superintendent, and threw open the
door of the same compartment he had almost entered before.
But it was not empty now. In one of the further corners sat a man
wrapped in a dark coloured ulster. A black felt hat was drawn down over
his eyes, and his muffled face was resting on his hand. So much the
superintendent saw in the brief moment during which he stood at the open
door, and it struck him at once that the man must be suffering from
toothache. And then his cousin caught him by the arm and drew him back.
"Here, man, the carriage next door is empty!" cried he, and the
superintendent closed the door and followed him.
It was scarcely more than a minute later when the whistle blew and they
were off, and Mr. MacAlister took out his pipe and prepared himself to
receive official confidences. But the miles went by, and though he plied
his questions incessantly and skilfully, no confidences were
forthcoming. The superintendent, in fact, had something else to think
about. All at once he asked abruptly:
"Robbie, did ye see yon man next door sitting with his face in his
hands?"
"Aye," said Mr. MacAlister, "I noticed the man."
"Did ye ken who he was?"
"No," said Mr. MacAlister, "I did not."
"Had ye seen him on the platform?"
"No," said Mr. MacAlister, "I had not."
"I didna see him myself," said the superintendent musingly. "It seems
funny-like a man dressed like yon and with his face wrapped up too--and
a man forbye that's a stranger to us both, coming along the platform
and getting into that carriage, and me not noticing him. I'm not used
not to notice people, Robbie."
"It's your business, George," said Mr. MacAlister, and then as he gazed
at his cousin's thoughtful face, his own grew suddenly animated.